Idolatry
by Cerulean Pen
Summary: Permanently moving in with Rarity after a family crisis has changed Sweetie Belle in more ways than one. She soon finds herself feeling second-rate to her glamorous sister and her eyes start to fall to the reflection in the mirror.
1. Chapter 1: Inside Eyes

Idolatry

Summary: Permanently moving in with Rarity after a family crisis has changed Sweetie Belle in more ways than one. She soon finds herself feeling second-rate to her glamorous sister and her eyes start to fall to the reflection in the mirror.

English Friendship/Hurt/Comfort Rated: T Chapters: Words: Sweetie Belle

Part One:

Inside Eyes

"Can you describe to us what happened yesterday afternoon?"

There are enough words to illustrate what happened to fill a textbook, one of the enormous tomes Twilight Sparkle has lined on her shelves. They all rake at my lungs, my throat, shredding me into a billion slices before the social worker pony. I am terrified to speak, to release all the emotions writhing in my chest and drown the two of us in it. Somepony weeps from the opposite side of the thin wall dividing this confidential office from the next.

The stallion leans towards me, until I can perceive his garden of stubble growing on his chin. Rarity would dub him a fashion _catastrophe_ and hound him with an electric razor. "Miss Belle, anything you say here is strictly confidential. You can tell me anything about what goes on in your life. Your parents, your sister, even your pet."

My lower lip quivers and my hooves start to wring one another under the tabletop from all the secrets reaching out to seize my ribcages. _Breathe in, breathe out. _"My big sister has a cat named Opalescence. Opal is grouchy all the time, except when Fluttershy grooms her, because all animals like Fluttershy. Only not cockatrices, because Fluttershy can use her stare and make them do what she says. A cockatrice turned my magic teacher into stone."

I feel a little bit better now that I've started to ramble, hopefully wheedling the stallion out of questioning my parents. He grins, the sort of grins older ponies give foals and colts when they think we're lying or embarrassing them. "That's very interesting, Miss Belle. My daughter has a cat, too. Little beast, if you ask me. But, I would like to hear more about your sister. What's her name?"

**Rarity. **

All I can see is her sapphire corneas, haloes in the darkness as she watches me in those final moments before I drift into dreamland. The oceans behind my own eyes pound until they overflow like faucets onto my cheeks. The social worker pony glances up from the notes he has been jotting down during our brief conversation. "Miss Belle? Is there something you'd like to talk about?"

He offers up tissues, but I fixate my vision on the gray carpet, my entire body trembling as the thoughts flash through my mind. "My sister's name is Rarity and I love her," I muster between gasps, swiping at the tears trekking towards my snout. "And she is the best sister ever. I just want to go home with her."

"Well, your sister is being interviewed by the officials here and you should be able to go home soon if all goes well. In the meantime, is there anything else you want to talk about?" he inquires, pushing the question yet again. I haven't the slightest as to why he desires to engage in conversation with me. My hasty outpour has left me drained and all I wish to do is curl up beneath the blankets and never awaken. "That's a lovely cutie mark you have."

Oh. My cutie mark. I follow his gaze to my flank, where a swath of light pink musical bars flows, dotted with notes that have hearts for heads. "Thank you," I murmur, because it's proper to thank a pony after any compliment. Rarity taught me this rule, but I don't think it's very fair, considering Rarity has broken it countless times.

We sit in silence for a moment and I realize the buzzing in my ears is coming from a mechanical device implanted in the wall. Now that I have located the source of the noise, I understand how annoying it is. I wonder how the ponies here tolerate the little box and its tinny song all day long, in between consoling fillies and filing paper work. I'm grateful we never aimed for social worker cutie marks.

"Sweetie Belle!"

There is no chance in Equestria the stallion is speaking: he has been calling me "Miss Belle" for the past forty-six minutes. My heart skips a beat and I whirl about, just as somepony leaps on me, tackling me to the floor. Rarity's body is slightly sticky with perspiration and her violet mane is withering, but it's Rarity. Her chest is shuddering against mine, too violently to even find a heartbeat. "I'm so glad you're okay!"

We're locked in embrace for hours, days, weeks, just breathing in each other's sadness and drinking in warmth. Eventually, Rarity pries herself away to, in turn, interrogate the stallion, a string of foreign words I have never heard. "Court order" and "custody" and "abduction." I capture them in my memory, hoping Apple Bloom or Scootaloo will know what they mean.

"Are you ready to go home?" Rarity is back, cupping my chin in her hoof like she did the first time she saw me in Mother's arms. Even though she does not elaborate, I comprehend which "home" she is identifying and nod. _Yes. Please take me home, where I can hide under the covers and cry without anypony seeing me. _My legs betray me and Rarity notices. "Do you want me to carry you?"

She drops to the ground, allotting me the opportunity to mount her back, looping my forelegs around her graceful neck. Exhaustion hits the second my spine is aligned with hers and Rarity struts right out of the building, into the glistening snow. She hums her dress-making song, a melody even better than any I could devise. I fall into sleep as we trudge through the slush blanketing the ground.

Just. Like. Old. Times.

:::::

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty. You've been out for a spell."

Applejack is in my doorway, smiling beneath the brim of her cowpony hat. "Ah know what yer thinking. Rarity asked me ta watch ya while she takes care of a few things down at town hall. Things were getting mighty quiet over here and Ah don't know how Rarity can sleep with all those creepy mannequins lookin' over at her."

I massage my temples, hoping to rid myself of the throbbing near my ears. My tongue lolls about in my parched mouth, prompting me to ponder exactly how long I have been lost in a dreamless darkness. "Wh-what time is it?" I ask, propping myself up and tugging the lavender quilt off my lower half. Applejack peers at the clock above the side table in the hallway and reports it is ten-fifteen. My pulse rockets into a dangerous zone that makes me liable for a heart attack. "Oh my gosh, I'm late for school!"

"Whoa there, little filly! Rarity told Cheerilee ya weren't feeling up ta school today, and since today's the last day before winter break, it all got worked out lickety-split." I'm relieved, but not by much. The pressure from the last day has bundled itself up in my torso until I think I'll suffocate. I sigh to empty my lungs of the pressure, rolling out of bed and shuffling towards Applejack. "Ah'll let ya freshen up. Ah'll be in the kitchen if ya need anything."

I wait until she's out of view to smile. Applejack has always been like a second sister to me, the mare I could reach out to if Rarity and I had fought or I couldn't endure her cleanliness a second longer. There was something magical about Sweet Apple Acres, how simply pure and rustic it was, where everypony worked together to make things happen.

The bathroom was originally for the both of us, but Rarity soon decided she required more space for her over-growing collection of beauty products and "moved out." Thus, I had two sinks, a mirror, a toilet, a bathtub and shower all to myself, along with a diminutive closet that I usually used to store my possessions. I leaned towards the mirror, scrutinizing my reflection, something I rarely did unless I was sure there was a blemish.

My eyes were cracked with vermillion veins and dark circles like bruises surrounded them. As pallid as my visage was, it had somehow grown paler, so that I was a ghost haunting my reflection. My mane was tangled from restless slumber; my tail was in no better condition. Another day in Ponyville. Another day as Sweetie Belle.

I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and brushed my hair. At least that was ordinary. I had a feeling today would stray from normality.

Applejack is rummaging through the cabinets above the stove, frowning at the quantity of groceries we have stocked. "Boy, Rarity must never have ta eat. There's barely enough food here to feed a newborn filly." She discerns me out of the corner of her eye and grins feebly, heading towards the pantry in search for provisions. "Ah guess she's used ta feeding one pony. Let's see what Ah can rustle up for us."

"Rarity usually keeps eggs in the very back of the refrigerator and bread under the sink. She has a bizarre system when it comes to organizing stuff," I explain, taking a seat at the kitchen table. Now that I'm resting, I realize how strong the pain in my head is, like somepony is pounding a hammer behind my eyes. I rest my forelegs on the tabletop, hooves on my brow.

"Oh, there ya go. Right in the place ya would least expect." Applejack withdrew the loaf of sourdough bread from beneath the maze of pipe work, spreading out the slices. I can't imagine why she thinks I'm the least bit hungry. Still, I help her by pouring two glasses of orange juice and I prepare to carry them to the table. My hoof slips, and-

_CRASH!_

A thousand shards of glass magnifies the spreading puddle of juice, flashing me back to an unfathomable amount of mess-ups through the ages. The pressure melts against the warmth of my eyelids and I swipe at the tears surging in my eyes. Applejack lays a hoof to my cheek, reaching out to rid my visage of the moisture. "Aw sugar cube, it's nothin' to fret about. Everypony spills something every once in a while. Ah'll clean this up, don't worry."

I almost yearn for Applejack to continue her hold on my cheek. Her hoof is smooth, cool, and she exudes the faint aroma of apples and diverse vegetation. Not quite as familiar or consoling as Rarity's exfoliated neck and her scent of cherry bubble bath, but I only want pony contact. I need psychical closeness, to share warmth and love and touch and smell. I blink. Applejack is across the kitchen.

After everything is tidied up and prepared, Applejack joins me. She never fails to amaze me with her unremitting strength, the way she can power through each day without having to stop and breathe and hold back tears. "So, Sweetie, how often do ya stay with Rarity?" the amber mare implores, her dull knife gliding through the butter trough.

Everypony seems to have taken interest in my life. With slight reluctance, I salt the scrambled eggs in front of me, wondering how I'll swallow the first bite. "Usually three or four days a month, and when I do, I usually spend it with Apple Bloom and Scootaloo. The house isn't too far from here, but I like being closer to school and my friends."

Applejack takes a bite of toast, analyzing the hidden layers behind my answer. Her left pupil vibrates when she's mulling over something. Every forkful of egg is heavier than the last one, a pebble in my throat. "So what did your parents do, Sweetie?"

"Rarity told me Mother doesn't have a job, and that Father earns all of our money through Canterlot." When I talk about them, it almost feels like they're nearby, in my presence, not a million miles away. "But last year, Rarity had a fight with them and said she won't take any more of their money. That was a few days before she met Twilight."

Applejack appears sympathetic, almost humiliated for me. Crumbs spill from the edge of her lower lip, but she has enough composure to swallow her butter-laden dough. "Rarity told me her parents were rich folk, but Ah didn't know her father worked in Canterlot." She selects apple preserves for her second slice of toast, while I'm still struggling to stomach a fraction of eggs. "Look sugar cube, Ah want ta help ya with this. We're all going ta search for them."

I keep my head bent over my plate, focusing on breathing in and out. "I don't know where they could have gone. They go on vacation all the time. Rarity told me they used to go to Hoofington when I was a little filly and she had to take care of me. But they always came home. Always." Everything inside of me is battling to escape, including the piteous excuse for a breakfast. "A-applejack? I think I'm going to throw up."

She reacts like there's dynamite lit beneath her, practically scooping me up and steering me towards the closest bathroom-Rarity's. I begin to refuse, but my esophagus warns me that premature breaths will lead to a violent eruption. Applejack bundles my mane back, an invitation to eject the contents of my stomach. This is the first time since I was a newborn foal, and it burns me, acidic fire on my tongue and teeth.

When it's over, all I can do is lean on Applejack and sob into her amber coat. I feel weak, like I'm a burden on everypony: Rarity, Applejack, even Scootaloo and Apple Bloom, because I have no purpose. My own parents couldn't even come home to me, they had to stay away. Her labor-toned muscles begin to shake beneath me, and I realize she's crying too. I don't know why. It isn't her fault. It's mine.

I don't know what happens, but it's freezing and dark and I think I like it.

:::::

"Okay, Rarity is going ta be here in about half an hour. Will ya be okay?"

She can't take her mind off of breakfast; I can tell. "I'll be okay. Thanks Applejack, for everything." I enfold her, getting one last whiff of the gorgeous fragrance. Applejack nuzzles me, and I watch her canter towards Sweet Apple Acres, where there has been an accident reported with Winona and a herd of cattle. I stand on the front stoop of Twilight Sparkle's library, which is constructed in a tree. I will never know why.

She smiles at me, a genuine smile that I've missed. "Well Sweetie, since this is an impromptu visit, I don't think we should pick up last week's lesson." Twilight visits her golden pedestal, inspecting the parchment unrolled over it and shaking her head. "I can't believe this…Spike! I asked you to send this letter to the princess!"

"Sorry Twilight, I got…distracted." He hastily expels an emerald blaze, one that consumes her message, sending it over waves of magic. Tendrils of smoke drifting from between his razor-sharp incisors, he dashes up the staircase. Before he closes his door, Spike leans into view, waving to me from afar. "Hey Sweetie Belle, hope you're feeling okay!"

"Hi, Spike," I call up to him, but Spike is already on the opposite side, distracted once more. I sigh, glancing up at Twilight Sparkle, who is rolling her eyes. "Do you know what he's doing?"

"Probably whipping a present up for Rarity. If he gives her a ruby on his own birthday, I'm scared to know what he's doing up there." Twilight leads me to her extremely small kitchenette, which is so dark and cramped, I at first believed we had walked into a basement. "Applejack told me you were feeling a tad under the weather, so I'll brew us some tea."

"Thanks, Twilight." As she prepares the leaves she obtains from Zecora, I poke around in her kitchen, finding that instead of food, she has books in every cabinet. I wonder how she survives. "Hey, Twilight, do you eat the books around here? Is that how you're so smart?"

"Of course not. I went to school and studied, just like you did. Maybe someday, you can go to school in Canterlot. You're getting much better with your magic," Twilight Sparkle praised, pouring the blistering tea kettle's contents into the cups. To demonstrate her excellent teachings, I levitate the tea cup from across the room to my lips. I then utilize a cooling spell she taught me last month, taming the steam and bubbles.

"I don't mean to brag," I say after a sip, instantly refreshed by the amazing taste and perfect temperature. "You are the best teacher I've ever had-well, the only teacher I've ever had. You're also a really good friend." She blushes, brushing her indigo bangs out of her eyes. I never noticed, but she is really pretty. Not meticulously styled pretty, like Rarity, more of a natural brilliance.

"You're a wonderful student. I hate to see something like this happen to you." Twilight Sparkle lifts her chin to match my gaze, and I see the ugly truth around her violet eyes: wrinkles. We're all growing old. "Your parents are going to be all right." Why does she think that's what I'm worried about? "But while you were in the hospital, we…found something."

My heart freezes between my lungs, and for a moment, I don't breathe or think or live. Twilight Sparkle sets her tea on the countertop and rummages through a stack of papers stuck between the pages of "Star Swirl The Bearden: A Reference Guide." "Sweetie, if you know about this, you have to tell me."

I follow her hoof to the printed parchment spread before me and read the words over and over without understanding them. Dark blotches creep in on the edges of my vision field, but I manage to blink them away, hoping to block out the hideous letters creeping along the ink lines. _Chrysanthemum and Silver Shoe to Hoofington._

_One-way. _


	2. Chapter 2: Flowers of the Field

Part Two:

Flowers of the Field

My nightmares are an orchestra, tuned to the rhythm of sleep and the melody of life. While there, I see my parents,

_One Way_

see their faces pressed into the studio windows as Rarity works diligently on yet another creation, humming her dress-making song. Apple Bloom wanders through the billowing curtains that host the cobwebs of my mind, her brilliant eyes glossy with a film of tears. Scootaloo hovers in the corners, shaking her head sympathetically. The knife glides through the butter trough.

There are more; there has to be more. Those pills Rarity dispensed to me, in all the pretty colors, the box warned me: _May cause nightmares in younger users. _The satin sheets rustle around my hooves and the hoof steps hammer into my skull, a firework display, all things bright and beautiful.

They end when I'm under the spotlight, isolated with only the sound of my voice to comfort me.

:::::

I haven't seen the girls since Monday, which is eons ago, eons filled with tragedy and triumph and heroes and villains. Or eight days, filled with tears and questions and tickets and screams. At breakfast, where the vision of Applejack holding me haunts the plates, Rarity kindly suggests I pay them a visit. My actions are recorded, rewound and reenacted: _yes, no, okay._

Rarity picked me up late last night, her gorgeous curls disheveled and her breaths short. She had been dealing with the accident all day, while I listened to Twilight read the greatest epics of Equestria, her voice the eye of my hurricane. I am starting to see the effects of this, finally seeing the rubble of the world. There are wrinkles around Rarity's snout. _Wrinkles. _I never believed that was possible.

"Will you be all right, walking there by yourself? Nurse Redheart said it's best not to exert yourself, and darling, I couldn't bear to see you there again. Oh, is it raining? You shouldn't-"

"Rarity." My tone is dull, lacking life and Rarity senses this as well. "There isn't a cloud in the sky. Besides, I really want to see them. I need to see them." Truth. Brownie points for honesty. Ever since we all acquired our cutie marks, about a year ago, we have bonded over other things, tying up the knots a shallow organization left in its wake. They are my oxygen and water, because my bread and butter are for the good and the pure, the Applejack and the Rarity.

"Fine, but please, do come home before sunset. I don't…" She catches herself before the entire statement comes to being, but I know the rest. _I don't want to lose anypony else. _

"I will sis, I promise." To reassure her, I reach out to embrace her, inhaling the sweet perfume she sprays on the nape of her neck. However, I can't glance at her again, no, because I know, as I close the studio door, teardrops will be suspended in her eyelashes.

:::::

I don't remember the path to Sweet Apple Acres being so lengthy and rough. Nurse Redheart's caring, yet firm, instructions join the huddled masses of voices in my head. _Now, you shouldn't be up and around just yet, you don't want to suffer relapse. Take short walks to build yourself back up and be sure to eat nutritious foods, not to mention lots of water. _

All that sits in my stomach are the scared bites of scrambled eggs and the tea from Twilight. My body is baffled, demanding that my brain come to its senses, come out of the shadows to start the hunt again. The softest voice of all, the one with the most power, keeps her lips pressed tightly together, shaking her head. **No. No. No.**

Winter is ebbing like a retreating tide, and I recall the recent Winter Wrap Up, where the three of us helped Applejack sort out the seeds. I was able to use my magic to move great piles of them at once, thanks to Twilight's excellent teachings. All around me, spring struggles to break through the last shivers of winter: tender shoots peeking from the slush, the timid chirp of a bird, a fragile rose bathed in the sunlight. Spring is good. Spring is _strong. _

Finally. My legs are shaky and I know, I absolutely know, my cut has reopened under the bandages. On the horizon, Big Macintosh moves slowly, silently, his ways so methodical and cautious, it must take every ounce of sanity to live. To be himself. I have a flash of thinking he was cute, but that was when I was younger, more foolish. Still…

"'Morning, Sweetie Belle," he greets in his deeper than dark voice, nodding his head lightly. It's funny to think he lost his wits over Miss Cheerilee. Otherwise, he has scarcely spoken more than three words at a time.

"Good morning, Big Macintosh," I reply and it hits me seconds later that he _knows. _It must be common knowledge by now, the breeze of gossip over the café table. _By the way, did you hear about that family? You know, the parents of the dressmaker, Rarity? My Celestia, did you hear what her parents did to her sister? And it was-_

"Apple Bloom and Scootaloo are up in the clubhouse," Macintosh says with another nod, the ever-present strand of hay between his teeth bobbing. He must tease himself with that hay, a tempting image of food, while he labors in the orchards day by day. "Reckon they're waitin' fer ya."

"Okay, um, thank you." With a wave, I trot towards the overgrown trail, which Apple Bloom swears she'll take care of one day. The shortness of breath returns, and I can hear the muscles in my flanks complaining. Not whining. I would be on the ground screaming if they were whining.

After the Cutie Mark Crusaders became a picture on my dresser, we saw the clubhouse as an opportunity. Apple Bloom, who had proved herself to be nifty with just about every tool and brush out there, redesigned it once more. Photographs adorned the walls, shelves were built to hold our secrets, and it became a place to be together. I wish that I could live in a place like this. So cozy, so close. So…warm.

As I burst through the last wall of vines, where the snapdragons blow flames at my hooves, I can hear them. Scootaloo's voice is becoming shaped in Rainbow Dash's image, somewhat grating from the wind. Apple Bloom's is unmistakable, with her caramel accent swirling through the chilly air. Though my voices advise otherwise, I canter to the clubhouse's base, where a ramp leads to the doors like an easy path to Heaven. Step by step…

The warmth is tangible; Apple Bloom must have coaxed a fire out of those withered timbers. Applejack refuses to give us decent wood, because she is utterly convinced we'll burn the clubhouse to the ground. I don't blame her. I nudge the door open, shuddering in relief at the plume of smoky air that rolls into my empty spaces.

Apple Bloom drops her mug of cider. The shattering makes the wound under the hushes nervous, makes it want to spread further. Scootaloo gazes at me like I'm a triple-headed manticore, her jaw dislocated from her skull. My sight consumes the picture, but my sleepy brain doesn't comprehend it in any way. I stand in the doorway with my lavender scarf damp, my left foreleg bandaged, and a ghost's smile.

Scootaloo tackles me. I should have expected this, but my ribcage shrieks when it comes in contact with the floorboards. Her feathers drape over us like curtains, gentle over my coarse coat. "Sweetie Belle! Where in Equestria have you been? What's going on?"

_They don't know. _Little Voice gazes up at me with her moon eyes, glossy with tears, still shaking her head. Enervated, I settle back on my haunches, meeting their stares and attempting to form words that can't possibly describe what **IT **is. Apple Bloom trots to Scootaloo's side, much calmer in her disposition then she was last year. In fact, ever since Granny Smith passed on, she's lost a snatch of childhood.

"Guys…something happened last Sunday," I begin, and I can feel the ice in my veins, fissuring my safety to frosty shards. Apple Bloom seems to realize this is serious, more serious than sister arguments or broken hearts. She helps me to the heap of pillows in the corner, where I can melt into their softness, where the fabric cradles my broken bones and torn skin. They settle just adjacent to me, somber and prepared for the journey they're about to take.

"I was with my parents for the month. They were going to bring me to school on Monday and Rarity would pick me up. Like always. On Sunday, they went to the market to get some groceries, because we were almost out. And they didn't come back." Pause for dramatic effect, allow the gasps and the sympathetic hooves. "They were gone for three days. I didn't know what to do, actually. They had locked the door and I just waited upstairs."

"Those-" Apple Bloom jams a hoof in Scootaloo's mouth before the rest of her insult is formed, but the hate in her sienna eyes is evident. Calm doesn't mean emotionless. "I mean, Celestia, what were they thinking? Locking the door and leaving, like, no food? Who does that? And what happened to your leg?"

The snow whites veiling the wound have become scarlet with the poison apple. _(And Rarity would say they lived happily ever after, which doesn't actually happen, but for a while, I liked to believe it.) _"Well, on Monday afternoon, I decided I should probably get some help, so I went downstairs. But I tripped. I tripped…and I hurt my leg and my head. And I laid there for a long time, with no food or water. I laid there until Rarity opened the door and found me."

A tear slides down her freckled cheek and it hurts me, tears me apart, to know this has hurt my friends as well. Scootaloo coughs, although it sounds odd, choked, like she was swallowing something. "Oh Sweetie Belle, Ah don't know how yer being so brave about this. That's…that's 'bout the worst thing Ah can imagine. And Ah…we wish we could make the hurtin' go away."

"Y-you shouldn't have to wish that…it's not your hurting," I mumble, puzzled over how Apple Bloom can possibly consider me brave. A brave pony, like Scootaloo or Rainbow Dash, would have picked themselves up after falling down the stairs. I stayed down, good little Sweetie Belle, sit, stay, don't move, die.

"I-I should triple-kick their flanks to the moon!" Scootaloo has always been the most volatile, the one to post outrageous threats that she is, somehow, capable of doing. Her wings flare, having finally grown into the appropriate size for serious flight. "Seriously, where are they? When I get Rainbow on my side, oh, the illegal things we'll do-"

"Scoots!" I interrupt, tired of hearing how everypony will fight my battles for me. Besides, she'll never get where my parents are. "They're not here. They're…in Hoofington."

"Hoofington," Apple Bloom repeats dryly, the inner-mechanisms of her mind churning as she thinks. "Ah think Ah know where that is. Past Appleloosa, but not as far out as Trottingham. Noi is from there. Why are yer parents all the way out there, Sweetie?"

_I see their faces pressed in the windows of the studio, watching Rarity sew one of her creations. _**Why **seems to be the question of the hour. If I knew why, I would be stronger, I would have a legitimate reason to be furious and cry and scream. "I don't know. Twilight had the ticket they found in the house. It was for them. Hoofington. One way." And I can hear the train speeding away from Ponyville, see Mother flipping leisurely through a magazine and Father filling out a crossword puzzle. Unaware their youngest daughter was on her side, gradually losing her hold on sanity.

"Well, they can go kiss a manticore's tail for all I care," Scootaloo declares with a spiteful shake of her head. She gingerly pulls me into a hug, which surprises me: Scootaloo absolutely despises group hugs. "I'm just glad you're okay. Don't worry, we'll keep ya safe." Apple Bloom joins the affair, her smile somewhat pained and natural glow replaced with a certain dimness. "We were the Cutie Mark Crusaders. We promised to stay together."

To reassure her, to reassure myself, I begin to sing quietly in her ear, the first time since the accident. "We are the Cutie Mark Crusaders, we still never stop the journey…"

:::::

Somepony is awaiting my return at the edge of the fence. Featherweight.

He trots towards me with those dainty legs, scarcely able to support his jelly bean body and butterfly wings. As of six weeks ago, when his family moved in behind the boutique, he is the only colt Rarity approves of. _"Fillies and colts can do very foolish things at this age," _she reprimanded, gazing down at me over her scarlet eyeglasses. She believes Snips and Snails are too reckless, that the rambunctious Lickety Split will spur me to do idiotic things. I don't even bother mentioning Rumble or Pipsqueak. Besides, Featherweight is nice.

"Hi Sweetie," he greets, never one for excess speech. The ever-present camera is hooked around his neck and I can tell he's had luck today. "I just took some really neat pictures. Wanna see them?"

Even though I'm tired, tired deeper than I can possibly reach, I nod and follow him past the fence. Because Featherweight's mother is an earth pony, his father decided to keep them in Ponyville, which was fine by Featherweight. _"Between you and me, I don't really like flying up high. It's nice being on the ground." _

"Mom, me and Sweetie are going up to my room to look at my new pictures!" the colt yells to his mother, who is busy with the sewing machine. Like Rarity, Buttons is a seamstress, but she prefers to create practical items: pillows, sheets, blankets. In fact, I have one of her quilts on my bed, the fabric softer than kitten's breath.

"All right dear, keep the door open," Buttons murmurs without so much as batting an eyelash, her hooves guiding the patches together. Featherweight blushes considerably, but I chose to disregard the comment. Apparently, the rumor that Diamond Tiara had given Lickety Split her heart had reached adult ears.

Featherweight's bedroom is located in the loft, where the temperature is whatever it is outside and his thermostat is a tissue paper curtain. Photographs cover every exposed surface, which includes the headboard of his bed and the corners of the area. They must guard him in sleep, hold him close and lull him into pleasant dreams. I should find some.

"I got really lucky this morning," he says with a smile, herding me to his desk, where the pictures are spread out like playing cards. "There was the perfect amount of light and the snow was just glowing!" The first is a bud struggling to open on a icicle-lined branch, its petals furled. I can tell what he was trying to capture: spring waiting to be sprung.

Featherweight sifts through the stack, each photograph having a back story complete with character and a climax. All I see are the memories, the seconds of life he managed to capture and coax into the light. The first fish in the frozen pond. A clutch of eggs. The tear-slicked eye of a young doe.

"These are really good," I compliment as the collection closes to a finish. He glows with pride, tiny wings buzzing. Photography is his calling really, which is why I'll never be able to decipher that feather on his flank. The pegasus glides over to the bed, where another heap anticipates his love and approval.

"Thanks! Hey, check these out. I got these a few days ago, on the way to school. There was a train leaving." Featherweight pushes them over towards me, and I glance through them, watching as the train, from unique angles, appears.

Wait…

_One Way._

In the window of the sixth car, the second window, there is a pink visage gazing longingly at the town rolling by. The visage belongs to my mother. Mother is on the train.


End file.
